


Brothers At Arms

by boxxed



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Declan writes poetry prove me wrong, Little brothers are the worst, The Lynch Family, The bad language started very young rip, pre-trc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-07 18:37:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxxed/pseuds/boxxed
Summary: Ronan is not the best little brother to have. Declan gets mad. They make up in the end.





	Brothers At Arms

**Author's Note:**

> 90% Sure I've started this the exact way I started my last fic. what can i say, I'm woefully uncreative.

Ronan didn't dream anymore, hadn't for years. Since Matthews birth/creation/manifestation nights at the Barns had been restful. Declan would go to bed, lay down, go to sleep and wake, nothing would have changed from the night before. No monsters or catastrophes. No more screaming baby brothers that seemed to be growing and laughing and annoying much as any other child.

What's more was that Ronan didn't seem to remember he could dream and he had never questioned Matthews sudden appearance in the household. Declan supposed three was too young to understand the intricacies of human creation. If only any of this had meant the end of Ronan-induced headaches. After all, Ronan was eight and eight year olds are the absolute worst. Or maybe that was just him.

"The tremble of an aching soul," Ronan was reciting. He stood feet shoulder width apart on Declan's once pristinely made bed, one arm cast theatrically wide and the other supporting the hand that carried Declan's deepest secrets. "Cannot be felt across the lands. Nought point two on the Richter scale barely registers in Gaia's arms. The father wouldn't look up to see -" 

Declan was going to kill him. Matthew, who was happily playing audience to Ronan's show, didn't register Declan's rage, nor would he understand why he might be upset. He didn't understand cruelty. Ronan did. At Declan's appearance his grin grew wider and his voice louder. "For he only has love for a hurricane!"

Declan launched, Ronan pounced and in less the two seconds flat the pair were charging out of Declan's room, kicking up the rug and leaving Matthew laughing and clapping at their antics. Ronan was younger and smaller than Declan but so agile that he slid out of Declan's grasp any time he got near. He ran down the stairs, feet pounding and jumped the last five, landing in a crouch and leaping straight back into action. Declan had none of Ronan's fearlessness so he ran right to the bottom and fell behind.

"Get back here you piece of shit!" He screamed at Ronan's back down the hallway before restarting the race.

"Declan!" Cried Aurora from the sitting room.

"Watch your fucking language!" Called Niall from his study.

But Declan ignored them both. Ronan was out the back door and then so was he. The shock of the midday heat was instant, an advantage; Ronan couldn't last in the sun, too much of their father in him. But kept running he did, heading behind a cluster of small barns so Declan lost sight of him. He slowed to a stop when he got to the closest barn, trying to scout his target left and right, seemingly nowhere to be found. 

"Though leaves are many, the root is one; though all the lying days of my- Man, this is just Yeats. Hold on." Ronan was standing on the roof of another barn, another stage, flicking through Declan's diary like he were skimming a catalogue. He looked undisturbed, he knew Declan wasn't much of a climber, not without help. So brazen he was, it probably wouldn't matter if he thought Declan could catch him or not. "Here we go! Forests lining prison walls, flowers bloom in dungeon halls-"

Climber or no, Declan heaved at the corrugated iron roof as triumphantly as he could, all he needed to do to spur Ronan back into action. He recklessly leapt off again and pelted across the field towards the woods. He wasn't as fast as he had been, sweat already starting to seep through his t-shirt and Declan was gaining, but Ronan got to the trees before Declan got to him and he was gone. Declan stopped at the edge. He didn't like the woods (Ronan knew this, too). It was too wild and too dark and too unpredictable which was probably why Ronan spend half his time in there. Too much of an animal to be confined in brick walls. Too much of a dreamer. 

"I hope you get lost and die!" Declan yelled into the void. A half distant laugh echoed back. For a moment, Declan stood and forced himself not to cry. He was ten now, too old for all that. Still, Ronan had a way of bringing about the hot prickle of tears and going to Niall to tell always got the same response of 'hit him back'. But Niall had also always said not to pick on people smaller than you so the advice fell flat into a moral dilemma. So he breathed in and out, in and out and marched back to the farmhouse and tried to pretend he wasn't upset.

***

About an hour passed of Declan trying to orchestrate a better hiding place that even someone as devious as Ronan couldn't find before Matthew came to ask where Ronan was. He always asked where Ronan was when he wasn't about, whether from missing him or curiosity or concern, Declan didn't know, but Declan always wondered if he did the same for him. He thought he probably did but Matthew lamented the loss of house spiders when they were thrown out of the window, so that wasn't saying much. 

"Playing in the woods," said Declan, picking up his Gameboy and trying to look like a normal child with normal child hobbies. This wasn't necessary because it was Matthew, the strangest of Lynches by virtue of existing, and because it was Matthew he didn't need to look at him to feel the sulk radiating off him with the energy of a nuclear power plant; obviously he wanted Ronan for something, to play with most likely, (Ronan always has the best games), but he was too young to be traipsing off into the woods alone so that put the end to that. Neither was Ronan, but what Ronan was allowed to do and what Ronan did were two very different things. It didn't matter if Declan was allowed or not, he had no interest in going, anyway. Ronan could turn into a tree for all he cared.

*** 

It was the sound of Aurora in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal that made Declan, just for a moment, worry where Ronan had got to. It wasn't that he had never gone missing for any amount of time before; just last year he'd run off for an entire day and night, finally coming home to find a small gaggle of confused cops: Ronan was fine, he'd taken food and water and a sleeping bag and had wanted to sleep by a foxhole he'd found in an attempt to befriend the cubs.

Now all he had was his bare feet and a notebook. The summer sun wouldn't set for hours yet but evening was fast approaching and in the depths of the trees there wasn't always much of a difference. Ronan could be hurt somewhere. Declan might not care.

Of course, Declan always cares. Besides, maybe he had learnt his lesson by now. 

The forest edge where Ronan had escaped looked far more sinister than in had in the gleaming sunshine. The sky was purple above and the green of the leaves washed out to a tinged grey. 

"Ronan!" Declan called with no response. He tried again, as loud as his small lungs could muster. Again, nothing. No, not nothing. Something. Small and distant and somewhere straight ahead. Declan lit the torch he'd brought and soldiered through the branches, deep breaths, in and out, in and out. A few moments and a few more steps and he called again. The response this time was clearly a boy, words indistinct but desperate. Declan moved faster, eyes more focused on the floor to avoid tripping than where he was heading so he ran into more than one tree. Every time he called Ronan's voice got louder. "I'm here!" He bellowed. 

Then his voice wasn't coming from _forward_ but _above_. And there was Ronan, high up in a particularly old oak, clutching Declan's book to his chest with one arm and clinging to the trunk with the other. 

"I can't get down," he said. The thing with Ronan was that he would never admit to cowardice or failure or a need for help and yet in that moment all these things were laid bare. He wouldn't say the words but somehow, as always, he expected that Declan understood. Which he did. Because after all, what were big brothers for if not to save heir littler siblings from their own stupidity? (After they experience a healthy dose of fear?) Maybe Declan's pondering about Ronan learning his lesson had come to fruition. Unlikely. Maybe for a week or a month, but sooner or later he'd do something terrible or dangerous or both and Declan would begrudgingly be there to fix it. 

Declan heaved a sigh, examining the tree, trying to suss out what the problem was. There was nothing here that Ronan hadn't gotten himself out of before; it was the kind of tree that begged to be climbed: plenty of sturdy branches, not too much foliage getting in the way. Declan pointed this out.

"I've only got one hand, dumbass," said Ronan, gesturing his head towards the book.

"So? Just drop it, you dumbass?" Ronan didn't drop it. He held it close to his chest tighter than he held himself to the tree. Declan wanted to cry again. Because of Ronan. Again. 

"Look," he said, running his hands through his hair, "it's not that important. Dirt isn't going to ruin it, it's just a book, I can clean it, but if you fall, it could ruin you. Not in a way that can be cleaned up. And, like, honestly it would make my like one hundred times easier if you weren't around but mom would be sad and stuff so just drop it so you can get down here. I'll try to catch it if it'll make you feel better." 

"I don't care about your dumb diary," said Ronan as he peered down off the edge of his branch. And when he did drop the book a few moments later, he aimed right for Declan, who fumbled anyway and had to pick it up from the ground. But Ronan didn't move any further. He was far more hesitant than Declan had ever seen him. Hours sat alone, quiet, unmoving, could knock the arrogance out of you, leave you stiff and disjointed. 

"Are you hurt?"

"No, shut up."

"You'll be fine, Ronan." 

He didn't look fine as he assessed the branches below, sussing out the best course of action. Making his decision, he began to climb.

After the first couple of tentative branches where he kept pausing to stretch out his stiff limbs on-by-one, Ronan rediscovered his rhythm and in five minutes he was dropping to the floor with dirty hands and a heavy _thud_. He looked about as close to crying as he ever got, which was not very close at all but still, his frown was more sombre than raging and his head hung ever so slightly. Anyone who didn't know Ronan wouldn't notice much of his demeanor, that it was anything out of the ordinary, but Declan could see a humbleness that really didn't suit him. It wasn't the way he was built. Declan resisted the urge to give him a hug.

"That'll teach you for being a dick," he said instead and Ronan's lack of response said more than any of his words ever could have. He wanted to sound angry and menacing. He didn't. 

They trudged back towards the Barns in silence, Ronan's shoulder occasionally knocking against Declan's arm. Dusk had settled firmly on the fields and Declan had to knock the fireflies from his vision. Ronan grabbed one and held it cupped in his hands. 

"They're not all terrible," said Ronan suddenly, staring resolutely at the light emitting through his fingers. "Your dumb poems, I mean. They mostly suck, but some suck less." It was Ronan's way of say _sorry_, something Declan would never hold out for, no matter how wronged he'd been. Not from Ronan.

"Just don't... Touch my things," said Declan. It was his way of saying _I forgive you_, which was something he'd never give. Not for Ronan. Not for Matthew, either. Forgiveness was prerequisite when it came to brothers. "Come on, last one to the house has to set the table." And they were off.


End file.
